


Drunken Comfort

by lostshakerofsalt



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stozier, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostshakerofsalt/pseuds/lostshakerofsalt
Summary: Richie shows up at Stan's and he could really use a drink, so could Stan. Drunken angst continues. Richie finds comfort in Stan, his true family.





	Drunken Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> I think these two have a great relationship. I always come back to angst. I love my babies, they deserve all the happiness in the world.

“You’re a waste of fucking space! I can’t stand to look at you!”

It happens in slow motion. He doesn’t register the pain until moments later. the sound of palm to cheek resonates in the stale air of the kitchen. His mother. Empty bottles litter the floor. the stench of beer hangs around him. Tears well in his eyes on their own accord. He presses a hand against his stinging cheek. The screams continue but they never reach his ears as he turns on his feet and disappears.

He lets the front door slam as he stumbles out of the house and into the rain. Cold drops soothe his stinging face as he clambers onto his bike and pedals away. He rides fast into the night. Away from his shitty parents. Away from their disappointment. Away from his pain. He doesn’t just ride away from something that night, but towards something as well.

The image of a tall boy with curly hair looms in his mind as the wind stirs his clothing and the rain matts his hair to his forehead. The rain washes the tears away as they come. He rides to his best friend. To the one he truly feels safe with. To the one who is always there for him. Stan will understand. He always does.

He is soaked to the bone and shivering by the time he hops off his bike to lean it against the side of the house. He quietly climbs up to the boy’s window before knocking softly. A rustling noise comes from within before the curtains are pulled back to show a confused Stan standing in his pajamas.

The boy immediately shoves the window open, grabbing the soaking boy and hauling him in as if he weighed less than a feather. Richie falls against the carpet before allowing Stan to help him up. He finds a place on the edge of the bed.

“Richie? Richie what happened? Oh god.” Stan stammers as Richie hunches on the bed. All Richie can do is stare at his feet. That is until a hand gently tilts his head up and there he is. Those chocolaty eyes staring so deeply into Richie’s that he can’t help but let out a soft gasp. Stan sees right through him.

Before Richie can get a word out, his composure crumbles and he’s being pulled into Stan’s lap. Tender fingers run through his wet hair. A soft warmth envelops the shaking boy. Richie’s bony hand grips onto the other boy’s shirt like a lifeline. Soft whispers rush to his ears like waves lulling against the shore. Lips ghost against his ears making shivers run down his already shaking spine.

They stay like this for a while. Richie slowly warms up and Stan plays with his hair until he calms down. He holds his tongue, knowing that Richie just needs some time. When he finally calms down, Richie sits up awkwardly while standing up at the same time. Stan is quick to stand with him. Richie takes a moment to compose himself before rubbing his hands down the length of his face and exhaling heavily.

“Rich…” Stan whispers.

“Do you have any alcohol?” Richie questions blatantly.

“Uh, yeah we do but Richie-“

“Where is it?” Richie asks, face devoid of emotion.

Stan sighs, knowing he should be patient but wanting Richie to talk to him. Stan casts a worried glance at him before standing up and walking to his door. He opens it softly before tip toeing down the stairs to find his father’s stash of alcohol. He stands on his toes to grab a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard before walking back to his room. when he opens the door, Richie is rifling through his closet looking for spare clothes.

Stan sets the bottle down before grabbing Richie an old shirt and some sweatpants and handing them to him. Richie smiles lightly in thanks before pulling his damp shirt up and over his head. He tosses it to the floor. Stan watches with beady eyes as his best friend strips in front of him only to put the other boys clothes on. Richie pulls Stan’s pants up his hips before snapping his head up and grinning at Stan.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He winks as Stan flushes in embarrassment.

“Shut up Trashmouth.” He grumbles.

Richie pulls the shirt over his head before seeing the bottle of whiskey behind Stan. He swipes it off the dresser and walks over to Stan’s desk. He twists the top off with ease as he sits down, propping his feet on the desk. Stan glares at him but plops down on his bed, watching Richie intently.

Richie takes a swig and grimaces before lifting the bottle once again. He wipes his lips and gestures for Stan to take it. Stan frowns but takes it anyway.

“Go on Stan, you deserve a drink.” Richie states.

Stan eyes the bottle before timidly pressing it to his lips. The cool liquid burns down his throat and he coughs and sputters. Richie takes the bottle back, laughing softly. Stan looks up with watery eyes before flipping him off. At least Richie is laughing.

Stan snatches the bottle back and takes a swig, repressing his cough as the liquid burns his throat. Richie slow claps and Stan grimaces.

The boys pass the bottle back and forth. Richie ends up on the bed with Stan. They are both laying side by side on their backs. Richie has his hands behind his head as he voices his thoughts out loud. The bottle now lays on Stan’s bedside table.

“I’m such a fuck-up Stan! Not even my own parents want me.” He slurs drunkenly, pain evident in his voice.

“Don’t say that. Fuck them. They don’t have to be your family.” Stan says, his mind hazy.

“What do you mean?” he questions confusedly.

“I mean… Richie, you have us. The losers club! We are your family… I’m your family.” He whispers in the dark.

Richie’s breath hitches in his throat. He tilts his head to look at the silhouette of the boy next to him. Stan waits to hear Richie’s reply, but it doesn’t come. Instead he feels cold fingertips graze his wrist. A bony hand slides into his own, their fingers lock together. Stan holds his breath as Richie scoots closer and snuggles up against his side. He pulls their interlocked hands up to his chest before pressing the softest of kisses to the back of Stan’s hand. Stan pulls Richie against him, resting his chin on the top of his head. He breathes in the scent of Richie’s hair before kissing it.

Richie lets out a sigh and melts into Stan’s chest. He can hear the soft beating of his heart and it grounds him. In that moment he knows that Stan is real. That Stan is alive. That Stan cares about him and that he isn’t going anywhere. Like Stan said, he’s the only family Richie truly knows.

Rain patters against the windowpane as both boys drift to sleep in each other’s arms. Thoughts of anger and disappointment are left behind as they breathe in each other. They find comfort on each other. They find family in each other.


End file.
